


i know it's true (no one heals me like you) you hold the key.

by serenitysea



Series: bloodsport [4]
Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: F/M, but probably wouldn't be that surprised to find out because he's tony stark for god's sake, in which tony stark has an honorable mention, no she really does, part of the bloodsport series, skye has nightmares that might just give you nightmares, skye sees emotions the way the rest of us see colors, stream of consciousness fic, this might be a love story in reverse, ward is like an anchor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-16
Updated: 2014-06-16
Packaged: 2018-02-04 20:45:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,762
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1792654
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/serenitysea/pseuds/serenitysea
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The one where Skye finds out what her abilities are and just how important Ward really is.</p><p>(Or the one where Skye sees emotions in technicolor and eventually tells Ward how it works.)</p><p>{Set during Parts 2 & 3 of Bloodsport.}</p>
            </blockquote>





	i know it's true (no one heals me like you) you hold the key.

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, here's the deal: this is part of the Bloodsport series and takes place between Parts 2 & 3\. Consider it as Skye's POV, and you may find that you want to re-read Bloodsport afterwards, because I definitely laid the groundwork in there for this to take place. Not everything gets explored from the main story, but the parts that I felt were really important to Skye's development and relationship to Ward are definitely touched upon. If there's anything you think I missed, please leave me a comment or ask on tumblr (i'm b-isforbombshell.)
> 
> Bloodsport is my baby and I thank you all so much for joining me in this universe and indulging me and continuing to read along.
> 
> ** I just want to add that this is probably a bit darker than the main series, as it deals with Skye's actual facts nightmares (in somewhat graphic detail) and has a few possibly triggery thoughts for murder/suicide. It's really not a huge mention but I wanted to cover my bases. **

_i know it's true (no one heals me like you) you hold the key._

**i shall believe | sheryl crow**

* * * 

Ward teaches you how to kill a guy with your bare hands. 

You asked him to do as much, and he's not one to refuse on the grounds of expanding your training. (You can accuse him of many things -- of _all the bad, horrible things_ \-- but never being an inconclusive Supervising Officer. He was thorough to the bitter end.) 

It doesn't change how awful you feel after you do it the first time. How easy it was to snap the neck of someone who wanted to kill you. How it felt like you could _see_ each one of the vertebrae, how they connected to the brain and the way a person's life force _glowed_ \-- and which way to _bend_ until the spinal column was hopelessly destroyed. 

Ward is probably immune to this kind of stuff so you don't think much of his brief dismissal before he leaves to scout the perimeter. 

It's probably better that he doesn't see you puke your guts up. 

* * * 

If you're ever going to make this work, the gloves need to come off. 

It's not about FitzSimmons or May or even Garrett -- not really. It's about Ward. 

It's always been about Ward. 

And you need to know where the line in the sand is -- and if it's not in a good place, you need to damn well _move it_. 

You can feel the darkness and anger and _regret_ swirling around him so thick, it's a wonder he doesn't _choke_ on it. You can see the black red rage tinting the edges of his body like a bracket that just keeps expanding. It wants to suffocate him, wants to destroy him, until there is nothing left. 

You cannot let that happen. 

So you _push_. 

"You think you're the only monster here? That no one has _that_ kind of darkness?" 

It _aches_ like being stabbed with something from a prehistoric era; jaggedly crude, without any sort of finesse. The kind of wound that will never heal right, that always hurts in the wrong kind of weather, that will remind you constantly of its origin. 

"Give it up, Ward. We're all monsters somehow." 

It shifts the focus, like you knew it would. Ward cannot reign in that impulse he has to save you, not even at his own expense. All of this in a moment of time and you look at him, as if daring him to see the blood that has been spilled by your hands. 

(And here's the kicker: If he's so busy protecting you, who the hell is going to look after him?) 

So you _reach_ for that darkness, you pull hard and _yank_ until it comes to heel at your feet like a damn animal that you've lassoed. He's too damn preoccupied with his curiosity to even notice that you're starting to collapse under the strain. His anger is too potent to be controlled without practice -- it's the only way he has survived thus far -- and you're too new at this to really know what you're supposed to do with all of this relentless fury. 

It lunges up at your chest and starts to claw for your throat and you have to _shove_ it back down with a ruthlessness that is scary. You push past his searching eyes and lock the bathroom door behind you, turning on the sink to muffle the sound of your cries and the tears dripping from your eyes. 

It's not enough. 

There's too much simmering on the surface and you feel him as clearly as if he were _right next to you_ and that's the worst part of it: He misses you. 

After everything you've been through, and the hell he suffered at Garrett's hands and the torment May flung upon him and _ALL OF IT_. 

He _misses_ you. 

_He misses Scrabble on the Bus and reading Matterhorn late at night and snarky training sessions in the landing bay and --_

This time the sob that escapes you echoes in the tiled confines of the small bathroom and you hear him knock on the door. 

(Ironic that you're the one with this horrible gift and somehow he is the one who can sense when things just aren't right. The universe must have a twisted sort of humor.) 

You turn the shower on and close your eyes tight and pretend that you are anywhere but here. 

* * * 

You vow to change things once you arrive in London. 

The petty tricks and games you played when traveling from the States have taken its toll on Ward, and for once he looks dangerously close to snapping. In a way, it soothes you to see him so annoyed and frustrated -- because you feel like nothing has made sense since you'd left the team back in America and you just want something familiar -- and Ward losing his patience with you is far from new. 

But he's irritated and sleep deprived and almost a little too adorable for words -- more like the guy who pouted uncontrollably when you would beat him at Battleship -- and the nostalgia of it all has you taking pity on him and helping him into bed. 

Besides. It's foreign soil, so this is a fresh start, all of that. You even let the stupid jerk parade around without a shirt because it makes him feel like such a damn alpha male and you refuse to take that away from him. 

(Damn if you don't want to take a cold shower after, though.) 

* * * 

It's just. 

It's happening again. You're starting to… get _those_ feelings. The _something-is-not-right_ feelings. 

And this time, they're not just related to Ward. They're in regards to both of you. Like how that prickly feeling on the back of your neck means that you're being followed in Regent's Park long before Ward (the bonafide unbeatable specialist) does. And how you know exactly what route to nudge him along so that you remain unfollowed back to the hotel. 

Honestly, you're so busy listening to Ward and filtering through what that little voice in your head is telling you to do that you barely even notice you've been grazed by a stray bullet until you're miles away. 

It stings but is nothing compared to the white hot burn and desolation from when Ian Quinn put two bullets into your stomach -- though the feelings you're getting from Ward are loud and clear: You can't ignore his dark gray frustration and self-condemnation. 

And you're not about to let him take the fall for this. 

It is instinct that prompts you to throw your arms around him and tell him that it's not his fault. You feel the light blue shock and awareness that springs up from him and drop your arms in a somewhat awkward fashion. 

It doesn't escape you that you haven't been this close (in a genuine manner, not for a cover to fool unsuspecting TSA agents) since you were on the Bus ~~playing hooky~~ fleeing from Providence and getting ready to decrypt a hard drive that held all the answers Garrett would ever need. 

This is not the time for that kind of reflection. 

His shock is predictable and the tiniest bit amusing and it is all too easy to throw yourself back into the comfortable pattern of teasing him about having human emotion and over thinking things. 

(If he only knew.) 

* * * 

The flowers, though. 

(God, those damn things.) 

* * * 

You don't realize how bad it is until the Metro station. 

There's something crawling up your spine and making you shiver uncomfortably and when you look up to pin it with a glare -- there is a small flower stand waiting for you. 

Sickly sweet aromas with willowy stemmed flowers beckon like a siren and you can feel the bile rising in your throat. 

"Hey." 

Ward's concern snaps you from the trance you've fallen into. 

"Public place… We should probably keep moving." 

It takes everything you've got to nod your head and duck out of sight. 

They're just flowers, you know that. It doesn't mean anything. Everybody loves flowers. 

(Even monsters.) 

( _Especially_ monsters.) 

* * * 

It's probably why you have the nightmare. 

In a Dr Seuss world, there would be giant flowers trying to eat the heads of people you know and are trying to save -- but this isn't Dr Seuss, and honestly, you've been exposed to far too much weirdness for that to really faze you. 

It is much simpler: 

  
_There is Coulson and a gun and Ward._

_You cannot save them both._

  
(You relive this every time you close your eyes.) 

Ward is too clever to push it when you refuse to speak -- but Ward has also taught you very well, and you know that when he hears your breathing even out, he'll allow himself to sleep. It takes an agonizing seventeen minutes before he nods off and you can finally lay awake to guard against all the things that go bump in the night. 

Maybe the look in Ward's eyes is all-too knowing and suspicious but only you know that nothing came to take him away last night. You know that you kept him safe. 

(It is enough.) 

* * * 

You settle into a new place and tease him with the wrong kind of underwear and you can almost forget that you have this weird, horrible _gift_ that allows you to see emotions in vivid technicolor. 

When he brings up training, the nausea comes flowing back like a rushing river ( _how easy it was to end a life_ ) and need for control threatens to swallow you up entirely -- so you decline, preferring to sit it out and monitor the building. 

The excuse stands for now. 

But Ward is smart and he is not going to let you neglect your training forever. 

Time is running out. 

* * * 

The nightmares come back. 

Only this time, they're so much worse. 

* * * 

_It's Coulson and a gun and Ward -- and **Garrett**. _

_Garrett is out of control, unstoppable and won't settle just for hurting. He wants Ward back, wants to break him until there is nothing left, until no one will be able to identify the man who was Grant Ward and he wants to make Coulson **watch** it happen. The only way to make it stop, the only way to keep it from happening is with the gun. _

_You have exactly one bullet._

_One bullet, and it won't leave so much as a scratch on Garrett._

_He looks at you with those demented, glittering eyes and grins like he's got the answers to everything he's ever wanted. "Who are you going to kill, Skye?"_

_There is no winning here._

_If you kill Coulson, he will still destroy Ward. If you kill Ward, he will destroy Coulson. If you kill yourself, he will destroy them both (you just won't have to watch)._

_Garrett grows restless. "Time's up, Lady Danger." He moves fast, far quicker than you could have ever imagined and breaks their necks with a clean snap you feel straight down to your toes. "C'mon, don't look so shocked. Where do you think he learned it from, anyway? Had to teach him before he could teach you."_

_Ward and Coulson are sprawled on the ground and lifeless and **dead** and still you cannot fight, cannot push away or defend yourself. There is a scream trapped in your throat like a firestorm, burning and rushing your lungs to get **out**._

_"You should have taken the bullet," Garrett chides, reaching for you with those big hands and closing them around your neck. "They loved you enough to understand. Now I get to see what you can do."_

_It gets blurry and tight and you can't breathe and it's dark and --_

* * * 

You _finally_ wake up. 

Screaming. 

You wake up _screaming_. 

* * * 

Every light in the loft has turned itself on like an answering beacon to your distress and through your haze of fear you can start to see that this is _so much bigger_ than just a bad dream. This isn't just having a gut instinct, or seeing emotions like a color movie after watching decades of black and white. 

This is… going to be a problem. 

Ward comes rushing into your room and you fumble at the nightstand to make it look like you're turning the security ( _security, lighting, it's all the same, isn't it?_ ) off. He doesn't know that you're _reaching_ for the nuts and bolts and switches that turn them off from your _mind_. Doesn't know that somehow, all of these things are linked and responding your every feeling. 

He wants to stay -- you're not looking at him, but you can _feel_ it ( _and damn it, you're so sick and tired of feeling everything it's getting exhausting you just want to sleep for once and not have any nightmares_ ) and you know he wants to comfort you in any way he can. 

If he puts his arms around you right now… you will _shatter_. 

You can't shatter. Not with him watching. 

You push him away and tell him to go and cry yourself to sleep. 

(Except even that is a lie because god knows you don't get any sleep that night.) 

* * * 

If there was one thing Ward always stressed in your training, it was to keep your guard up. Always be on the lookout, to be constantly aware, because things change like quicksilver in a fight and if you're not ready, it will be too late. 

Guess what? _It's too late_. 

The guy you're struggling with lands a punch to your stomach and you're crumpled in on yourself before you realize he is backhanding you with a _wallop_. 

( _Should have taken Ward up on his offer to join him in the gym._ ) 

It throws you back a few steps and you flail your arms wildly, trying to regain your footing -- 

\-- You trip over the edge and fall back into thin air. 

* * * 

Panic blasts through your senses like a evacuation alarm on a sinking sink. You have enough air in your lungs to yell out to Ward and then you're _falling falling falling_

* * * 

Here's the thing about Ward: 

Ward is like an anchor. 

His concern and desire to protect you and ensure your safety and keep you close -- it's like a damn anchor and you can see the golden steel multi-strand braid that forms all of those feelings and links them to you. 

So when you go flying off the edge -- in a way -- he goes flying off as well. 

Ward is like an anchor, and you use his emotion and concern as a rope that pulls you close and wraps around tight until you hear the gunfire cease and can haul yourself back over the ledge. 

You don't fight when he pulls you into his arms because you need the reassurance that he is here, and he is real, and you are both _in this moment_ and safe. You need his arms around you to keep all your pieces stuck together and to take a breath and just _slow down_ for once. 

You've just fallen off a building and should have plummeted to your death. 

  
(Coulson had once mentioned reading a transcript of the Avengers debrief after Battle of New York and it was reported that Tony Stark had said something like: "Let's just not come in tomorrow. Let's just take a day." 

If you still _existed_ in the world, if you weren't running for your life, if it were safe to pull another person into this _hell_ : You'd hack your way into Stark Tower, send that genius inventor an email and tell him that his policy of _Just Taking A Day_ after near death experiences was something that needed to be implemented immediately.) 

You keep his arm around you all the way home and for once, it doesn't seem quite so unsafe in the world. 

* * * 

You need to be near him. You need to be in the same room with Ward almost as much as you need to breathe. 

This would ordinarily scare you ( _hello, independent woman -- not to mention, the last time you were practically joined at the hip, it didn't end well_ ) except for the glaring reminder of how you almost died yesterday and it was Ward's feelings that kept you alive. 

You can't tell him this. In fact, you don't want to tell him _anything_. You just want to know that he's _there_. That he is around, and he's safe and you're both still alive. 

(Maybe in a different world, you would have _post-battle-we're-alive-hooray_ sex -- but this isn't that world and you're not there yet. Plus, it is more than likely that if you kissed Ward right now, he'd fall over in shock and possibly have a heart attack. There's bad blood still being rooted out and though the trust has been rebuilt, the past has not been forgotten. 

It is a delicate balance.) 

So you stay close. 

When he reads at night, it takes everything you've got not to crawl into his lap and _hold on_ like a damn starfish. There is something about Ward that grounds you. You don't entirely understand you, you can't begin to explain it, you're not even sure you want to explore it. It's just the way it is. 

It takes several days before you can loosen up that need to be around him, before you can fool yourself into thinking that everything is going back to normal. 

(You should never stop waiting for the other shoe to drop. 

It always hurts like hell when it does.) 

* * * 

The bakery is different. 

The 0-8-4 that Coulson asked you to look into is nowhere to be found and the part of your brain that housed the _this is a bad idea_ instinct was starting to go haywire. Then you push open the door and see the orchids on the tables and it's like getting hit by a speeding train. 

The flowers are suffocating you and there are dark and evil and horrible and _you need to get out_. You need to get out _right now right now right now_. 

Ward looks confused and you know the only way to get him to leave is to make him follow you but there is no time to explain. You have to leave and you have to leave NOW. 

The fear is bubbling up and frothing at the edge of your consciousness and you cannot bat it away, cannot force it back down. It's too late for that. It swims up higher and threatens to drown you completely and you have a split second to check that you are a good enough distance away -- 

and the bakery _explodes _.__

Ward instinctively shields you and you wince, even as his fall knocks the breath from your lungs. The emotions are running too high for you to keep them in check right now and you are getting _battered_ by everyone: 

_oh god my baby my baby_

and: 

_it just exploded it just blew up and no one knows why_

and: 

_i don't understand i was supposed to deliver the milk here and i'm only a few minutes late_

and: 

_oh god my children my babies my babies_

and: 

_what the hell is going on?_

  
It takes effort to wrench yourself out of everyone else's head and focus on Ward but you do it. You do it because he is real, and he is right in front of you, and he wants answers. 

"I'll explain, but we need to get out of here." 

You shunt off the flow of information and overwhelming tidal wave of emotions and focus on keeping it contained. You have to hold it together. This is not the place to fall apart. 

Because it's been long enough keeping this inside and you just can't do it anymore. Maybe he'll think you're a monster. Maybe he'll leave. It's a risk you're finally willing to take. You have to tell someone about this before you go insane. 

(Who are you trying to kid? You _are_ insane.) 

* * * 

He makes you a cup of tea and tries to be gentle about probing for answers. You can feel his soft yellow curiosity testing the waters and trying to figure out what is going on. You talk in riddles for half a minute before just lose patience and blurt out: 

"When I get upset… terrible things happen." 

It is the understatement of the year ( _haywire electronics, exploded buildings, near death experiences that you miraculously survive_ ) and Ward (bless him and his unshakable, Robot tendencies) takes it all in stride and says: "You weren't kidding about the orchids, were you?" 

It's such a _Ward_ way of putting things that it almost brings tears to your eyes. You aren't reading disgust or panic from him, or the dark purple of betrayal, even though you'd hidden this from him for months. (To be fair, you were kind of learning it as you went along.) 

He tells you that he's not going anywhere, that you're a team -- _his_ team. You can't help but breathe a sigh of relief, even though you know it's not fair to keep him here. That it's dangerous for him to be around you. 

"I could hurt you." 

Ward looks at you with unwavering intensity and his thoughts come through clear. Something warm and light grows in his chest and brightens up his face (the colors are too intense for you to see them properly) as he begins processing your time together -- from the beginning. 

( _You see him seeing when you first met; you see Garrett and his subsequent deterioration; the people you encountered and tried to save while working with Coulson and the team; the way you looked in a hospital bed with wires running everywhere after being shot; how your face turned white at the Metro; how you gritted your teeth and stayed in tact until you were clear from the bakery._ ) 

"I trust you." 

And yes, okay, he's held a gun on you but: this is also the man who taught you how to defend yourself -- the one who made you realize that you were worth saving, worth fighting for, that someone would come to your rescue -- what it mean to be a part of a team; he went through hell and back, _you're in hell_ and you're _trying_ to come back -- 

And he is your anchor, keeping you safe. 

You stop denying what you've wanted since that day on the roof: You throw yourself into his arms and you don't let go. He holds you tight and it feels like _coming home_. 

(Home.) 

* * *


End file.
